


Summer Fling, Don't Mean a Thing

by Nutella_enthusiast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Football Player Louis, Football Player Niall, Harry-centric, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Singer Zayn, not really sure what Liam is tbh, tennis player harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutella_enthusiast/pseuds/Nutella_enthusiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’re not very good at football, mate, you know that, right?” continues the boy, taking Harry’s continued silence as an invitation to keep talking. He pauses for a moment, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “actually, you’re pretty shit if I’m being completely honest.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hey!” says Harry, although the grin stretching across his face might give away his true feelings. “I am excellent at football. And even if I wasn’t, who are you to tell me whether or not I can play?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He laughs. “Let’s just say I’m a football enthusiast.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Harry smiles back, holding eye contact for just a beat too long. “I’m Harry,” he says finally, holding out his hand.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I know. Harry Styles, Olympic bronze medalist. I thought you would be better at other sports, considering how good you are at tennis.” He pauses, smile widening, and reaches out to take Harry’s hand. “I’m Louis.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Do I not get a last name?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The other boy smiles. “Maybe later.”</i>
</p><p>Or - How to Fall in Love with a Boy you met at a Resort in Three Weeks or Less</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Fling, Don't Mean a Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofcourseidont](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofcourseidont/gifts).



> SORRY I KNOW ITS SUPER CHEESY AND RIDICULOUS BUT I FEEL LIKE SINCE IT’S FROM HARRY’S POINT OF VIEW IT KIND OF HAD TO BE LIKE THIS BECAUSE HARRY IS JUST A CHEESY RIDICULOUS PERSON OK BYE

Harry is on his hands and knees, covered in sand, and searching through a bush for a football that he doesn't even care about, when he’s interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. It’s high and lilting, and makes Harry think of a violin.

“Hi,” says the voice.

Harry attempts to turn around to see who is talking to him, but in his haste to straighten up, he completely forgets the branch just above his head.

He yelps in pain, then carefully ducks down further and attempts to turn around again. “Oops,” he says, laughing and rubbing at the back of his head with one hand, and gingerly pushing the branch out of the way with the other. “Sorry, hi.”

“You need some help?”

Harry takes his first good look at the boy, and he feels as if all of the air around him has just suddenly been sucked away. He is a few inches shorter than Harry, with sparkling blue eyes and a caramel colored quiff, and Harry’s sure he’s seen him somewhere before (because really, how could he possibly forget a face that beautiful), but he can’t place where. He's so busy staring that it takes him a moment to realize that the boy is expecting him to answer his question.

“Sorry, what?” He can feel himself blushing.

“Help. You know, with finding your football? Because I don’t mean to be nosy or anything, but I saw you kick it, and I’m pretty sure it went over there.” The boy gestures in the opposite direction of where Harry had been searching. 

Harry just gapes.

“You’re not very good at football, mate, you know that, right?” continues the boy, taking Harry’s continued silence as an invitation to keep talking. He pauses for a moment, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “actually, you’re pretty shit if I’m being completely honest.”

“Hey!” says Harry, although the grin stretching across his face might give away his true feelings. “I am excellent at football. And even if I wasn’t, who are you to tell me whether or not I can play?”

He laughs. “Let’s just say I’m a football enthusiast.”

Harry smiles back, holding eye contact for just a beat too long. “I’m Harry,” he says finally, holding out his hand.

“I know. Harry Styles, Olympic bronze medalist. I thought you would be better at other sports, considering how good you are at tennis.” He pauses, smile widening, and reaches out to take Harry’s hand. “I’m Louis.”

Harry’s sure he recognizes him now, but he’s still not sure why. They are at a resort for the rich and famous though, so he supposes he’s probably the son of some rich businessman or other that he’s read about in some newspaper.

“Do I not get a last name?”

The other boy smiles. “Maybe later.”

“Well, Louis Maybe Later, how about that help finding my football? My friends sent me to get it, and I’d hate to leave them waiting.”

“On one condition.” Harry can practically see the mischief in his eyes.

“Anything,” he promises, and he’s fairly sure that he actually would do anything this mysterious, beautiful boy asked him for.

“Get a drink with me tonight?” asks the boy, smirking impishly.

Harry grins. “I’d love to.” 

********

By the time Harry gets back to his friends, it must have been at least a half hour, and they both seem to have given up on him returning. They’d been kicking the ball around on the sand before Harry had managed to kick it off of a small cliff and into some bushes, but had migrated to a few chairs set out under an umbrella at some point while Harry was gone.

“Hey,” says Harry with a small wave, Louis trailing behind him carrying the football.

“Really? ‘Hey?’” asks Liam, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were gone for almost an hour and all you say is ‘Hey?’ What, did you meet a hot guy or something?”

“He did, actually.” Louis smirks as he ducks out from behind Harry and throws the ball to Liam. “And don’t be so overdramatic. It couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes. Oh, hey Horan,” he adds, catching sight of Niall, who looks completely relaxed, huge sunglasses covering most of his face and a pink drink with an umbrella in it resting on the arm of his chair.

“This is Louis.” Harry grins proudly and gesturing to his new friend. “Although I guess you two already know each other?”

“Yeah, great to see you again, Louis,” says Niall, nodding to the boy and taking a drink from his glass. “We ran into each other in a pub a few months ago after we-”

Louis, cutting him off swiftly. “After the Ireland/England World Cup match. Like I said, I’m a big football fan.”

“Right,” says Niall, looking from Louis to Harry and back, a questioning look on his face - or at least, Harry thinks that’s what it is, he can’t really see enough of Niall’s face to be completely sure.

“Anyways, I should probably get back to my friend too.” Louis turns back to Harry and lowers his voice. “I’ll see you later. 7 good?”

“Sounds great,” says Harry, staring after the boy until long after he has retreated into the distance.

Finally, Niall breaks the silence. “Harry, you do know that that was-”

“A very attractive, nice seeming boy,” says Liam, cutting him off. “Trust Harry to go searching for a football and come back with a cute boy,” he adds with a snort. “Why does that never happen to me?”

*******

The resort restaurant is crowded by the time Harry gets there, but he spots Louis’ quiff easily through the crowd, as he sits at the bar, drinking a cocktail, muttering something angrily into his phone and looking generally disapproving of everyone around him.

“Hey,” says Harry with a grin, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

“Yes, I’ve been running every morning. I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he snaps into his phone, hanging up quickly. “Styles,” he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, all hints of his irritation at whoever was on the other line gone. “You’re late. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up and I’d be forced to spend the night drinking to numb the loneliness.”

“A lady never shows up less than 15 minutes late. It makes people think she’s desperate.”

Louis glances at his watch. “It’s only 5 after 7.”

Harry’s smile widens. “And who said I wasn't desperate?”

Louis laughs, and Harry feels a rush of pride at managing to be the cause of such a beautiful sound from such a beautiful boy.

“Does that mean you’ll buy me another drink?” asks Louis, gesturing at his almost empty cup.

“What would you like?”

“Something with a lot of alcohol in it,” says Louis, frowning. “Sorry,” he adds after a pause. “I’m not usually like this, I promise, I just got in a big fight with my, uh, my friend. I didn’t really tell him I was coming here, and there’s some stuff I’ve got to be getting ready for.”

“You want to get out of here then?” asks Harry. “I hear the beach is beautiful this time of night.”

“I meant more the resort itself than just this bar, but that actually sounds great. Just let me grab something first.”

He slips off into the crowd, only to return a few moments later, a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm and a mischievous look in his eye.

“Come on, let’s go, we only have a minute before someone comes out here after me,” says Louis, grabbing Harry’s hand and yanking him off the barstool and towards the exit. Harry stumbles but catches himself quickly and races after the blue eyed whirlwind who he can already feel himself falling for - in more than one sense of the word. Sure enough, just as they’re ducking through the door, Harry hears a voice shouting behind them, and he may not understand French, but he can tell that they don’t sound happy.

“Hurry,” shouts Louis over his shoulder, keeping his grip on Harry’s hand and sprinting down the path to the beach, giggling the whole way. “Hurry, Harry! Hurry!”

When they finally make it down to the beach, Harry is wheezing, and both his shoes are completely filled with sand. He leans over, and both boys simultaneously realize that they are still holding hands, and let go, blushing. Harry places his hands on his knees, breathing deeply, as Louis stands next to him, continuing to giggle.

“How are you not out of breath?” asks Harry, standing up straight and putting his hands on top of his head.

Louis grins, wide and unguarded, and if Harry hadn’t been completely out of breath already, Louis would’ve completely taken it away. His cheeks are pink, and Harry sees an entire sparkling blue ocean in his eyes. “I run a lot,” he says with a shrug.

“So do I, but-” Harry stops, still trying to catch his breath. “Come on, let’s go find somewhere to sit down.”

Louis grabs onto Harry’s hand again and pulls him towards the water, and Harry might have complained if it were anyone else dragging him around like this, but he likes the feeling of Louis’ hand in his too much to care. He presses the bottle of champagne into Harry’s chest so he can sit down and take off his shoes, pouring what looks like an entire beach’s worth of sand out of them.

“Your turn,” he says, eyes sparkling with joy.

Harry shrugs and sits next to him, pulling off his shoes, and placing the bottle between them in the sand.

“Now, would you like some champagne, Mr. Styles?” asks Louis, picking it up and holding it out to him.

“I’d love some, Mr...” Harry pauses, realizing he still doesn’t know Louis’ last name.

“Maybe later,” says Louis again, and Harry realizes that he doesn’t think Louis’ smile has dimmed since the moment they left the restaurant.

“Fine,” he groans, stretching it out as long as he can and sighing overdramatically.

Louis pops the cork off of the champagne, clearly not stopping to think about the fact that he’d been carrying it while running across sand and a bumpy path for at least five minutes. “Shit shit shit shit shit,” he says, pulling the bottle close to his and attempting to lap up the foam that is spilling out of the mouth of the bottle and all over both of his hands. “Harry, do something!”

Harry takes the bottle from him and stares at it in confusion for a moment, but just as he is about to try to do something, it stops, the foam at the mouth of the bottle receding back into it and the rest sliding down onto the sand. “There,” he says with a grin. “I helped.”

Louis rolls his eyes and takes the bottle back, but he’s still smiling as he takes a swig from it. “How about some ‘Never Have I Ever?’” he asks, handing the bottle to Harry so he can take a drink too. He shivers as the bubbles tickle at the back of his throat.

“Never Have I Ever? What are we, sixteen?”

“Just answer the question Styles.”

“I’ve never had champagne before tonight,” says Harry instead of a response.

“You - never?” asks Louis, gaping at him.

Harry shrugs. “Never had a reason to I guess.”

Louis takes a swig from the bottle and pauses for a moment, thinking. “I’ve never played tennis.”

Harry takes the bottle back and takes a drink. “I’ve... never had a pet besides fish.”

“Do little sisters count?”

Harry laughs. “Sure.”

“Then give me the bottle,” says Louis, making grabby hands. He takes a deep swig and sits in quiet contemplation for a moment. “I’ve never worn women’s clothes,” he finally says.

Harry laughs again and takes a swig from the bottle without a word.

“Okay, this is a story I need to hear,” says Louis, taking the bottle back and taking another drink.

“I thought you were only supposed to drink when you’d done something.”

“Maybe I was lying. Now stop avoiding the topic here Styles.”

“My sister wanted to be Elphaba from Wicked for Halloween one year, so she dressed me up as Glinda.”

“Blonde wig and everything?”

“Blonde wig and everything.”

Louis stifles a giggle, and Harry hits him lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up. I was eight.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Harry snorts and passes the bottle to Louis. “I’ve never been to the US.”

Louis takes a drink, coughing slightly as he attempts to drink and laugh at the same time. “I’ve... never been skinny dipping.”

Harry gapes at him. “Never?”

“Not that I can remember. I mean, there was that one night in Rio last year that I passed out and woke up with no memories of the night before, but I’m pretty sure all I did was drink a lot of tequila and dance on a table.”

Harry pulls his shirt off with one fluid motion, before standing up and holding out one hand to Louis. “I guess we’re going to have to do something about that then, won’t we?”

“Why Mr. Styles, I think you’re just trying to get me naked.”

“Is that a problem?”

Louis stands up without a word and begins unbuttoning his white button up, throwing it aside, his shorts following it quickly. Harry is speechless for a moment, as his eyes rove over Louis’ body - his tan chest and shoulders, his muscled thighs, his deliciously tight boxer briefs.

“You’ve got four nipples,” says Louis conversationally.

“Are you objectifying me?” asks Harry, covering his lower two nipples with his hands.

“To be fair, you did objectify me first,” says Louis. “Now are we going to do this or not?”

Harry reaches down and pulls off his shorts, leaving both of them in nothing but their pants. “Your turn.” Harry grins and nods to Louis’ black briefs. The champagne makes his tongue feel looser and his head feel light and bubbly.

“Fine,” says Louis, leaning down and pulling them off in one swift movement. “Last one there’s a loser!” he shouts, tossing his pants at Harry and racing towards the water.

“Hey!” shouts Harry, tripping in his haste to take off his own pants and get to the water. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Harold. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

Harry is trying to remember what the next line in The Princess Bride is, when Louis speaks again, his gaze now fixed on the almost full moon. “You know, it really is beautiful out here tonight.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, not taking his eyes off of the boy in front of him. “Almost as beautiful as you.” He knows it’s cheesy and ridiculous the moment the words leave his mouth, and if it weren’t for the champagne, he probably would never have said it at all, but the wonderfully shocked look on Louis’ face stops him from feeling too embarrassed about it. The boy’s eyes are wide, his mouth in a perfect pink O, and Harry feels an overwhelming urge to kiss him. He is just about to when Louis bursts out laughing, the full, loud, ringing laugh of someone who finds something truly hilarious, not a flirtatious giggle or a forced chuckle, and Harry finally feels the blush making its way up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Harry Styles, I think that was the most ridiculous come on I’ve ever heard.”

“Did it work?” asks Harry.

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

Harry takes a step forward only to be greeted by a faceful of water. He steps back, spluttering, wiping salt out of his eyes. “What was-” he starts to say, but he’s cut off by soft lips being pressed against his. His eyes spring open in shock and he’s amazed to see that Louis is even gorgeous from this close. _No one_ is supposed to be gorgeous from this close. As he’s thinking that, he realizes that Louis is still kissing him and shuts his eyes again, pulling the boy closer to him and kissing him back. He tastes like salt and champagne and Harry never would have imagined that to be quite as amazing as it is. Louis tongue darts out to swipe across Harry’s lower lip, and Harry opens his mouth eagerly, brushing the tips of their tongues together.

“Louis,” he breathes into the other boy’s mouth, and Louis pulls back suddenly, leaving Harry feeling empty and cold.

“Shit,” mutters Louis. “Shit, we can’t do this.”

“You mean...” says Harry, wondering where he went wrong.

“No no no, it’s not this.” He gestures between the two of them. “It’s this.” He gestures to the beach around them, and turns back to Harry, as if that had actually explained anything.

“I... I don’t understand.”

“It’s just...” Louis takes a deep breath. “I’m just not out, and we’re making out naked on a public beach.”

“So...”

Louis laughs breathlessly and rolls his eyes. “So, do you want to come back to my room?”

“I, uh... Yeah,” says Harry. “Yeah, I really really do.”

********

By the time they get back to Louis’ room, Harry’s starting to wonder if putting back their clothes on was really necessary, considering the fact that Louis has been pulling at his shirt the whole way back. Harry pulls it off the moment the door closes behind them, and the moment he throws it aside, Louis is pushing him back against the door and kissing him fiercely. Harry’s hands down Louis’ sides to grab ahold of his hips and pull him closer, grinding against him. Harry hasn’t wanted someone this badly in months, or ever maybe, and if the way Louis is holding him close, his hands scrabbling frantically against Harry’s back is anything to go by, he feels the same way. Harry’s hands drift down to cup Louis’ arse, that glorious arse that he’s been itching to get his hands on all day, and Louis gasps into his mouth and jumps up, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. Harry stumbles backwards, and if he hadn’t been standing with his back to the door, he’s sure he would’ve fallen over backwards.

“Bed,” gasps Louis. “Now.”

Harry stumbles over to the bed and drops Louis onto it, climbing after him and straddling his hips with his knees. He is so eager to get Louis’ shirt back off that he rips it open, buttons flying in every direction.

“Sorry,” he giggles, watching as one lands in one of the many pairs of shoes Louis has lined up in front of the closet.

“Shut up,” says Louis softly, reaching one hand up to cup Harry’s cheek and pull him down into a gentle kiss.

********

Harry wakes up the next morning to the sun filtering through a crack in the curtains and Louis nowhere to be found. There’s a sheet of paper on the pillow next to him though, and Harry picks it up and reads it quickly.

“Had an early meeting. Picnic on the beach at twoish? I’ll bring lunch if you bring dessert ;)”

Harry cannot believe how entirely charmed he is - and he knows completely and utterly fucked he is if he is finding handwriting charming, no matter how adorably crooked it is. Even so, he pulls his clothes back on, slips the note into his pocket, and begins his trip back to his room, wondering absently if the kitchen would be willing to give him some strawberries.

Harry has just shut the door to his room and is looking at the clothes he brought with him to figure out what to wear that afternoon when there's a knock on his door.

“Hey, come in,” he says, flinging it open when he sees Niall and Liam standing on the other side, before returning to the two button ups he’d been considering.

“Drinks went well then I take it?” asks Liam, looking at his ruffled hair and clothes from the day before.

Harry grins and nods, throwing one of the shirts onto his bed and the other back towards his bag.

“You know, there have been rumours for years, but no one actually believed them,” says Niall thoughtfully.

“Rumours about what?” asks Harry, looking up from where he’s now digging through his bag for his favorite yellow swim shorts.

Liam and Niall exchange a significant look, and Niall sighs.

“Rumours about you being a secret clothes hoarder,” says Liam, picking up the shirt from his bed. “Seriously, how many white button ups does one person need?”

“Hey!” says Harry, frowning. “I like to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” asks Niall with a laugh. “Matching outfits for you and your secret boyband?”

“Or maybe you were thinking of making us start one with you?” asks Liam, putting on one of Harry’s fedoras. “I don’t know if I’m quite that cool, mate.”

“If you’re not going to be helpful, you can leave,” snaps Harry, ushering them out the door. “And give me those back.” He grabs the shirt and hat, shutting the door behind them, and walks back towards his bathroom so he can take a shower.

********

The next few weeks a blur of strawberries and champagne and kisses and blowjobs and Louis Louis Louis, and Harry grows so used to waking up next to him that when he wakes up to a cold and empty bed and another sheet of paper sometime in mid-August, it almost feels like the first morning all over again. This note includes no cute smiley faces, or promises of lunch though; all it says is,

“I had to go. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.  
-LT”

Not even Louis’ adorably crooked handwriting can stop Harry from falling to the floor, paper gripped tightly in his fist and tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

When he finally moves, it is only to open the door, which someone has been knocking on for what could have been as little as a few moments and as long as 10 minutes; Harry’s not quite sure, everything still feels not quite real.

“I heard Louis left,” says Liam, pushing his way into the room past Harry, who is still standing frozen in the doorway, the trip over from the bed having taken all of his energy. Niall takes him by the shoulders and walks him back over to the bed, sitting down next to him and taking one of Harry’s hands in both of his own.

“How did you know?” asks Harry blankly.

Liam sighs. “It’s all anyone’s talking about. Zayn Malik showed up at like 5 in the morning and whisked him away.”

“Zayn Malik... The singer?” asks Harry.

“Apparently they’re best friends,” says Niall. “They met last year when Zayn did the song for the world cup.”

Now Harry’s completely lost. “But why was Louis-” He freezes. Suddenly, everything makes sense. Why Louis looked so familiar, and why he’d been so secretive, why we wasn’t supposed to be here, why Niall knew who he was.

“He’s- He’s Louis Tomlinson, isn’t he? Like, world cup star Louis Tomlinson.” asks Harry. “I’ve been sleeping with Louis Tomlinson for weeks and neither of you said anything.” All the pieces are coming together. There have been rumours about Louis being gay for years, but he’d always been quick to deny them. After the Ireland/England game, Niall had run into Louis in a pub and talked about how cool he was for weeks.

“He didn’t seem to want you to know. I guess he thought if you didn’t know who he was you wouldn’t go to the press.”

“I wouldn’t have gone to the press anyways!” says Harry, finally throwing the crumpled piece of paper to the side.

“Are you sure?” asks Niall. “Because I have my publicist on speed dial, and he’s a bit of a twat, don’t you think?”

Harry sighs. “Don’t do that. It’s fine, really. It was just a summer fling or whatever. I’ll forget about him soon.”

All three of them know that Harry’s lying, but Niall and Liam still let themselves get ushered out of the room when Harry tells them he needs to take a shower. There’s not really much else they can do now anyways.

********

Harry tries to forget Louis, he really does, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to erase the blue eyed boy from his memory. It doesn’t help that he’s started seeing him everywhere he goes. He didn’t realize football players even got this famous, and yet there’s an ad for the Doncaster Rovers on the side of a bus, or Louis Tomlinson modeling for Burberry on a billboard, or an “Out and About with Eleanor Calder,” who is apparently Louis’ new model girlfriend, in one of his sisters (okay, fine they’re his) magazines. It reaches a point in early November, when the doorbell rings and he opens the door to find Louis standing on the other side, he’s almost entirely sure he’s hallucinating. He knows he couldn’t imagine the pink tint to Louis’ cheeks, or the sparkle in his eye though, so he steps back and lets him enter without a word.

Louis stares at him for a moment before he starts speaking, forcing his words out as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t say them quickly enough, he won’t say them at all.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to leave, but my team manager found out about us somehow, and he sent Zayn to get me and take me back, there was nothing I could do.”

Harry stares at him in shock. “Nothing you could do?” he shouts. “You could’ve woken me up. You could’ve not completely disappeared for three months. You’d could’ve not gotten a girlfriend!”

“You heard about her then?”

“Yeah,” says Harry, lowering his voice. “Yeah, I heard about her.”

“She’s not real.”

Harry snorts. “I figured.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I got back,” says Louis. “My manager told me I needed to have a tougher image, so other teams would take us seriously, and I tried so hard, but every day I saw something that reminded me of you, so I eventually just gave up and tracked down Niall and bullied him into telling me where you live.”

Harry makes a mental note to throttle Niall next time he sees him. “You think that’s hard?” He scoffs. “I literally see your face everywhere I go. The other day I actually had to ride in a bus with your face painted on the side of it.”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Louis again. “I’m so fucking sorry. I came to ask you to forgive me - to be with me. No tricks this time. You know my last name, and I swear, I won’t disappear in the middle of the night again.”

Harry sighs. “I think you should go.”

“I don’t-” Louis starts, but Harry cuts him off.

“Tell me honestly, Louis; even if we were together, even if we go back to what we were doing over the summer, will we be able to date publicly? Will I be able to hold your hand when we walk down the street together, or buy you ice cream, or kiss you whenever I want, paparazzi be damned?”

Louis hangs his head in shame, and Harry knows what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth, but he needs to hear him say it anyways, to tell him that they’ll never work out, that he can finally start moving on.

“No,” says Louis quietly.

“Louis, I can’t just kiss you when we’re alone, or let you whisper sweet nothings to me while you hold her hand. I’ve been the dirty little secret before, and I can’t do it again, not with you. I love you too much to have anything less than everything.”

The words slip out without Harry meaning for them to, and the moment they do, he knows it’s a mistake. There’s silence as the two men stare at each other, before Louis finally opens his mouth.

“You... Love me?”

“I think you should go.”

“But-”

“Please,” says Harry, and as hard as he tries, he can’t stop his voice from cracking. “Please, I need you to go.”

So Louis goes, quietly, a thoughtful look on his face, and Harry collapses back onto his couch and pulls Louis’ last note out of his pocket - the soft, worn piece of paper with those nine words that had changed everything.

********

Harry had honestly thought that would be it, but as he is sitting at his flat a few days later with his friends, still seriously considering throttling Niall, the doorbell rings again. 

“Did you order pizza?” asks Harry, getting up to answer it.

“Don’t look at me,” says Niall, holding his hands up defensively. “If I wanted pizza, I would’ve made one of you two get it. Speaking of, Liam, darling, love of my life, do you want to get me a pizza?”

“Who is it then?” asks Liam, ignoring Niall completely. “We don’t really have any friends.”

“I have friends!” calls Harry over his shoulder, pulling the door open to reveal a tall, dark eyed man, with black hair swept up in a quiff that would make Nick Grimshaw jealous. 

“Harry Styles?”

Harry freezes. “Zayn Malik,” he says, gaping at the man in front of him. There is a scuffling from the kitchen, and if Harry had been looking behind him, he would’ve seen two curious faces peering around the corner. “I mean, uh, yes. Harry Styles. That’s me.”

“I’ve been told to give you this, and to tell you to come with me.”

He hands Harry two pieces of paper: the first, a train ticket and the second, an embossed card with his name printed on the front, and nothing but the word, “Sorry,” on the inside.

“I, uh, okay. Let me just get my keys.”

He returns to the kitchen in a daze, and is immediately pounced on by Liam and Niall, both asking about a million whispered questions at once.

“Was that actually Zayn Malik?”

“What’s on the papers?”

“Why is Zayn Malik here?”

“Where are you going?”

“Is his hair even shinier in person?”

“Will you take us with you?”

“What did he smell like?”

Both Niall and Harry pause at that one. “Seriously Liam?” grumbles Niall. “That’s disgusting.”

“Sorry,” mumbles Liam, looking at his hands.

Harry rolls his eyes and slips his keys into his pocket. “I have to get my coat.”

“Wait, Harry, take us with you!” shouts Niall after him.

“Can I bring my awful friends?” asks Harry.

“I was told you might want to do that,” says Zayn, smirking, and reaching into his pocket to pull out two more train tickets. “And I come prepared.”

“Oh my god I’m going on a train with Zayn Malik,” whispers Liam in Niall’s ear, loud enough for everyone to hear.

********

Harry stays quiet for the train ride, even as Liam flirts with Zayn outrageously, and, surprisingly, Zayn flirts back, Niall laughing at making fun of them the whole way. As Niall asks Zayn questions like, “Is it difficult to be that pretty?” and “tell me, do you have to ask people on dates, or do you just go out to dinner and wait for them to flock to you so you can have your pick?” Harry just turns the card over and over in his hands, wondering where they’re going.

Finally, the train stops, and they’re led to a waiting limousine, complete with a dark sunglasses wearing driver and windows tinted dark enough that Harry can barely see through them. The city passes by in a blur of grey, and Niall continues to laugh at Liam and Zayn, but Harry just continues to stare at the card in his hands.

When the limousine stops in front of an arena, he’s not really surprised. He knows that Louis has a game today, and he knows that Louis sent the card, because who else does he know who knows international pop stars, and besides, he would recognize that stupid, charmingly crooked ‘S’ anywhere.

Even so, he is still a little surprised when they are ushered into a VIP box, right on the edge of the field, with the game already almost half over. In fact, it is barely 5 minutes before the whistle blows for halftime, and the teams clear the field.

“What’s going on?” asks Harry, turning to Zayn. “Does he think maybe I’ll forgive him if I see how good he is at football? Because I’m pretty sure I can do that from my flat.”

“Just watch,” says Zayn, and Harry sighs and turns back to the field, which Louis and six of his teammates are running back onto, all of them but Louis holding a large piece of white paper.

Harry can hear the murmuring coming from all over the stadium, can feel the anticipation building around him, but his eyes are glued to the team on the field, as, one by one, they flip over their posters.

“Harry”

There is a twisting sensation in his stomach, and he can’t tell if it’s pleasant or not.

“Styles”

It’s definitely not pleasant. Terrifying maybe.

“I”

He takes in a deep breath to calm himself.

“Love”

He’s sure he’s seeing things.

“You”

How is this his life.

“Too”

Harry blinks rapidly, as Louis takes a few tentative steps forward, towards the box that Harry’s sitting in. Suddenly, without even realizing what he’s doing, Harry finds himself standing up, vaulting over the edge of the box, running across the field to meet Louis, who looks even more nervous from up close. HIs hair is drenched in sweat and pulled back under an absolutely disgusting headband, and his jersey is sticking to his chest, and Harry thinks he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Was- Was this okay?” asks Louis, taking one step forward, so they’re almost chest to chest.

“Shut up and kiss me Tomlinson,” says Harry with a grin, pulling Louis forward and pressing their lips together.

The stadium explodes into cheers, and Harry feels like cheering too, but instead, he pulls Louis closer, kisses him fiercely, and makes a promise to himself to never let him go.


End file.
